


The Many Shades of Kim Hyojong

by hotmess_ex_press



Category: Pentagon (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Memories, Not Really Character Death, Time Skips, actual trash, also um shine, i have missed pentagon's beautiful faces, it's really bad no joke friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 01:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotmess_ex_press/pseuds/hotmess_ex_press
Summary: And Hwitaek wanted to, so bad. He wanted to protect this boy.He never pushed Hyojong to be a perfect person, instead, accepted him as he was while still pointing him in the right direction.Hwitaek likes to think that made Hyojong a little better all the same.I'm so, so sorry. I hate that I couldn't rescue you.In other words, all Hwitaek wants is to find Hyojong, but you can't find what is gone forever.





	The Many Shades of Kim Hyojong

**Author's Note:**

> Ummmmm.
> 
> I wrote this a longlonglong time ago, so it's like...interesting.
> 
> (Translation: please lower your expectations before reading this shit.)

Hwitaek hates the way they talk about him now. Like he's a ghost. Like he's gone, a memory, a shadow of a legend.

He _was_ a legend, no doubt about it. He was a cautionary tale and an inspiration all at once, with his glinting rings and his fast tongue and faster fists.

Hwitaek hates the way they remember him. _Like they knew him._ The nerve. "Dawnie," they say when they speak of him, like he ever showed them anything more than cool disdain.

Hwitaek really knew him. Hwitaek really remembers him. _Truly_ remembers him. Once, he was patching him up after a bad fight, bruises swelling violet and cuts crying red on his porcelain skin.

"Dawnie," Hwitaek recalls asking him. "Why?"

And he was probably still reeling from the punches he'd dealt and been dealt, and loopy from the all the painkillers Hwitaek had forced him to take. And he had looked up at him with his sleepy brown eyes, so cold for everyone but Hwitaek, and gave him a small smile.

"Hwi," he had said. It was always 'Hwi' with him, never 'Hwitaek' or 'hyung.' "Please. Call me Hyojong."

E'dawn never said please. But Hyojong did that night, and Hwitaek had never melted faster.

_Come back, Hyojong. Please._

"E'dawn is dead." Hwitaek doesn't remember who said it, but after that the rumors bloomed like plumes of smoke, and he had run from the whispers, refusing to believe them.

He believed in Hyojong, but that was a lot like believing crap infomercials or lover's promises.

When he heard those three words, he ran, called out, cried for Hyojong.

"Please," he had wept that day, "Hyojong, where are you?"

He was usually so good at locating Hyojong. Once, he had found him sitting at the edge of a cliff, staring out at the grey-blue ocean. Hwitaek had clambered over the fences to get to him, heart beating so fast he could taste blood in his mouth.

"Hyojong," is what he whispered, name like relief. "Why are you here?"

Hyojong looked at him, eyes dark and angry and choppy as the waves sprawling in front of them, tone harsh as broken glass. "No. That's not the question. Lee Hwitaek, why are _you_ here?"

Hwitaek had gasped then, and really, he should have been used to the harshness that was Hyojong, all the sharp edges that made him up. "Why wouldn't I be here?"

Hyojong growled, the sound starting in his lungs and rolling off his tongue like thunder. "Because you don't deserve this, Hwi. You're made of gold and smiles and you're so...so perfect. And you are untouchable and magic and breathtaking. You shouldn't _be_ here, hanging half off a cliff because you're being stupid and heroic trying to save some dumbass kid who can't keep his hands off drugs and people and money and alcohol. _This_ is how I'll end, Lee Hwitaek! I'll kill myself or someone will kill me first, and I'll be asking for it! I _relish_ in the fact I'll be gone one day, but you. _You!_ You'll die rich and happy, surrounded by your twelve children. I promise you won't even remember me, Lee Hwitaek. Go now. Go be rich and happy and _forget me_."

That was the first time that Hwitaek knew, without a doubt, that he was going to treasure Kim Hyojong, because he was far, far too precious to let go. He set his jaw. "No."

No one said no to E'dawn.

But that day, months ago, Hwitaek had said no to Hyojong.

"I could never forget you, Hyojong, you are much too alive to ever leave my mind. Without you, I would see in black and white. _No one_ will hurt you, not even yourself, because I'm here, and I won't let them. You don't deserve this, no one does. No one deserves a life full of empty, and you have so much to live for. And I don't want to be here, I _need_ to be here, because I will save you. Kim Hyojong, I will save your sorry ass, and I will cherish you. One day, we'll die rich and happy, surrounded by our twelve kids, and I will regret nothing."

Hyojong kissed him, then, for the first time, the salty wind blowing through them, the sea clawing and howling beneath their feet. Hyojong tasted like smoke and something sweet, hazy and rich, and his hair felt like silk and starlight in Hwitaek's hands. In that moment, if Hwitaek was the sun, then Hyojong was the moon and stars and planets, beauty and time and _life_.

But this time, Hwitaek can't find Hyojong. No one can. He disappeared so suddenly and quietly Hwitaek worries it was all a dream. But it couldn't have been, the memories snapping too close at his heels to be imagined.

Hyojong gave him a ring. It's atrocious, a huge cocktail piece dripping silver with a bloodred stone. Whenever Hwitaek cries, he'll clutch his hands together, kiss the ring silently and wish and wish and wish. _It's like Hyojong knew he'd be leaving,_ he thinks. _He wants me to wear it_ (wanted me to, he's gone now) _to remember him._

As if he could forget. He promised he wouldn't, and Hwitaek never breaks promises.

But he did, in a way. He promised they would die content and ready, but now they will both die _(Hwitaek will die, Hyojong is dead already)_ sad, cold, afraid.

Hwitaek hates that he can't live anymore.

All he wants is to see, feel, hear, Hyojong again, because it was always him.

Hwitaek was a senior when E'dawn appeared at his school, first in rowdy gossip. He had to switch schools after a skirmish with the police, and people had built him into something so huge, with his tattoos and flames and quick temper, that no one was sure he really did exist.

But he did, and somehow he was even bigger, and bolder, than he was made out to be.

People talked, but he didn't care.

E'dawn never cared.

Hwitaek was walking in the woods near the skate park, and E'dawn was slumped on a bench, shirtless, and even from his distance Hwitaek could see the cuts and bruises and a bone sticking out where it definitely shouldn't have been. A cigarette, smoldering slightly, dangled between his lips.

Just as Hwitaek got close enough to hear, E'dawn snarled, breath catching. "Golden boy. Fuck off before I rip off your skin from your body."

He was dirty, broken, and painted scarlet.

"You're in no state to make threats."

E'dawn sagged more, biting hard on the smoke and squeezing his eyes together. Hwitaek continued.

"You need my help."

With much effort, E'dawn reached up and took the cigarette out of his mouth, blowing smoke at Hwitaek.

"If I needed your help, I'd fucking ask." He flicked ashes at the older.

Hwitaek pulled a first aid kit out of his backpack. E'dawn's knuckles and undereyes were violent shades of purple.

"You can't be afraid of needing help," Hwitaek warned, voice soft and smooth. "What can I try to fix?"

E'dawn groaned, putting out the smoke on the bench and leaning back.

"Everything."

And Hwitaek wanted to, so bad. He wanted to protect this boy.

He never pushed Hyojong to be a perfect person, instead, accepted him as he was while still pointing him in the right direction.

Hwitaek likes to think that made Hyojong a little better all the same.

_I'm so, so sorry. I hate that I couldn't rescue you._

Clasping his hands in front of his heart, Hwitaek circles the place where they first met. Over and over. Every day. All night, his heart aches and he sobs.

_Are you still hurting? Do you miss me? Do you remember me? I hurt. I miss you. I'll never let you go._

It's dusk and light filters through the trees in shades of gore and roses.

Shades of Hyojong.

And Hwitaek must have finally snapped, shattered too much to hold on, because he thinks he hears his name. He hears it again and shakes his head.

"Hwi!" It sounds closer. Only one person ever calls him Hwi.

"Hyojong," Hwitaek murmurs against the ring, still not turning. He can't hope. Hope is a saccharine poison.

_"Hwi!"_ And he can't _not_ whirl around. He swallows down the toxin gladly.

It's Hyojong or he's dreaming, something he hasn't allowed himself to do for too long. His hair glints coppery in the sun.

"Hyojong!" Hwitaek calls, and he's running, and Hyojong's running too, and neither stop until they crash into a messy kiss.

Hyojong's hair is gritty and his lips are so much smokier than they usually are, but it's him. Or an illusion of him. Hwitaek kisses him, presses into him, moves his hands over him, because he knows it's all going to dissolve. Salty tears find their way into Hwitaek's mouth.

_You're dead,_ Hwitaek tells Hyojong with his tongue, _and maybe if I kiss you hard enough, long enough, I'll be with you._

When Hyojong pulls away, gasping for breath, Hwitaek doesn't look at him. He buries his face in Hyojong's neck. Crying, still.

Because Hyojong feels so solid. He feels real, and when Hwitaek realizes he's not, he'll break. Hyojong feels the same as he did before, warm and comforting, and Hwitaek won't survive.

How could he survive, loving a ghost?

"Hwi," Hyojong whispers, so tenderly.

"Sshh," Hwitaek whispers a kiss onto Hyojong's collarbone. "Don't talk. You're not here. _You're dead._ "

"Hwi!" Hwitaek feels tears in his hair and Hyojong's voice is thick. "I'm here, I promise. I came back for you. I'm alive, see?"

Carefully, Hyojong takes Hwi's hand, which grips onto his own, and raises it to his neck. He presses Hwitaek's shaking fingers against his pulse.

It beats steady, like the current of a river.

Hwitaek pulls back to look at Hyojong, and searches his eyes, hungry. They are full of life and love.

"You're here."

"You waited for me."

"What else could I have done?"

"Forgot."

"We still have twelve kids to raise."

Hyojong laughs and Hwitaek could get drunk off of the sound. He runs his hands through Hwitaek's hair.

"You look like you're made of gold," he brushes his lips along Hwitaek's jawline. "I love you so much, Lee Hwitaek."

Hyojong pulls him into a sweet kiss. Hwitaek whispers it back, breath hot and decadent against the other's skin.

"I love you too."

As their lips slide together like pieces of a puzzle, Hwitaek melts and it's _worth it._

He regrets nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> So sorry for wasting your time, truly.
> 
> I actually survive off of comments and kudos. I hope you liked this!


End file.
